


Cried For Love (Can’t Stand It)

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Established James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairytale ending, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Insecure Tony Stark, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Magical Accidents, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Out of Body Experiences, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Protectiveness, Self-Doubt, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Stark Blames Himself, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, True Love, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky braces his hands on his hips, and tilts his head to the side, expression caught somewhere between anxious, confused, and nervous. “Well, shit.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agrees, worrying at his bottom lip, and rubbing at the back of his neck. “That can’t be good.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EchoSiriusRumme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSiriusRumme/gifts).



> This is for the lovely [EchoSiriusRumme](http://echosiriusrumme.tumblr.com/). Here's your Tony angst, with a dash of insecurity, and a pinch of self-loathing. Consumption drastically increases risk of feels.
> 
> Set sometime after CA:TWS, and ignoring AoU and CA:CW. Because we deserve a break. We really do.
> 
> Huge thanks to [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/innercinema), [27dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons), and [Finely Honed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed) for kicking my ass whenever I start slacking, and for betaing my stories into shape.
> 
> Title inspired by Iggy Pop's [Cry For Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQNBii8Kogw).

Bucky braces his hands on his hips, and tilts his head to the side, expression caught somewhere between anxious, confused, and nervous. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, worrying at his bottom lip, and rubbing at the back of his neck. “That can’t be good.”

They glance at each other, share a helpless little shrug, then look back at the hospital beds, and the two pale, unconscious figures tucked under several layers of blankets. If it weren’t for the machines attached to both of them, and the monitors displaying two steady heartbeats, the bodies would look almost dead, they’re so still. No twitching fingers, no fluttering eyelids. Nothing. 

Steve automatically lifts his arm when Bucky turns towards him, wrapping it around Bucky’s shoulders while Bucky curls into his side, and tucks his face away against Steve’s throat, shivering ever so slightly. It’s been a difficult couple of months for Bucky since the Project Insight mess, and Steve can only imagine what it must be doing to him right now, having the control, and the agency he’s worked so hard to regain ripped away from him again. Steve pushes his nose into Bucky’s hair, breathing him in, then presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Someone’ll figure it out, Buck. Someone always does.” 

As if on cue, the door to the infirmary crashes open, and Tony—still in his torn undersuit, with half of his face caked in dried blood from a wound above his right eye—storms into the room, the rest of the team, and a harried looking doctor not far behind. Tony skids to a halt next to the first bed, and reaches out as if to touch the man on it, but pulls his hand back at the last moment, and starts tapping his fingers against his chest instead. His voice is raw, and cracks when he asks, “What do we know, doc?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” says the doctor, and steps up between the beds to check the equipment. “They’re stable, as far as we can tell, but there aren’t any guarantees when magic is involved. For all intents and purposes, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes entered a comatose state immediately upon being hit, and there haven’t been any changes since.” 

Steve watches with a surreal sense of detachment as the doctor adjusts the IV in his hand—or, rather, the hand of the body Steve used to occupy, and is currently staring at because he’s very much not inside that body—and then does the same to Bucky, before she starts to explain treatment options. Part of Steve wants to scream, to shake his friends, and yell at them that they’re both standing right here, but they’ve tried that to no avail for the last couple of hours. Whatever, or wherever, Bucky and he are at the moment—Ghosts? Spirits? Spectres? Trapped somewhere? Between worlds?—no one can see, hear, or feel them.

“For the time being, however,” the doctor finishes, sounding genuinely apologetic, “there isn’t anything to be done. I suggest everyone get some food, and rest. And Mister Stark, you should really let me have a look at that cut of yours.” 

“I’m fine,” Tony insists automatically, but doesn’t fight it when Natasha, gentle but firm, pushes him down into one of the visitors chairs. “Tis but a scratch.”

Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh at that, turning his head just enough to see Tony without dislodging himself from Steve. Right after Sam and Steve had brought Bucky in from the cold, there had been few things Bucky could enjoy without fear of triggering something unpleasant, be it food, sports, music, or films. But then, one night, Steve had woken up to find Bucky gone from their bed, and, heart beating wildly, had run through half the tower in search of his missing boyfriend. He’d eventually found him up in the penthouse, curled up in one corner of Tony’s massive couch, a fuzzy blanket draped over him, a cup of steaming hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in his hands, and grinning along to Tony’s running commentary of the movie up on the screen. Monty Python, as it had turned out, was just silly enough to be perfect for Bucky. 

Bruce, Clint, Sam, and Thor are shuffling out of the room, talking among themselves in hospital appropriate hushed tones, while Natasha moves to stand behind Tony, hands on his shoulders in silent support. Tony tips his head back against her stomach, and allows his eyes to flutter shut, hissing and grimacing when the doctor starts cleaning, and then stitching up his cut. The whole thing doesn’t take more than ten minutes, and after making sure everything’s working properly once more, the doctor excuses herself with a stern reminder for Tony to go, and catch some sleep. 

Steve as well as Natasha know him better than that, though. Natasha walks around to stand in front of Tony, pinning him with a pointed look. “I’ll get you a sandwich, and you’re going to eat it. And drink at least two glasses of water with your pain meds.” The way she says it makes it clear that refusing isn’t an option. “And you’re going to bed after having dinner with the rest of us,” she continues, talking right over Tony when he opens his mouth to protest, “because you’re hurt, and you know Bucky’d bitch at you if he could see you not taking proper care of yourself.”

“Damn right,” Bucky mutters, and Steve has to hide a fond smile away in Bucky’s hair. “Dumbass.” 

Tony pouts up at Natasha. “Fine. But I want coffee.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Natasha reminds him, but one corner of her mouth is twitching, and Steve knows she’s going to indulge Tony. He still isn’t entirely sure what happened between them back when Natasha’d been assigned to spy on Tony, but whatever it was, they’ve grown closer for it. Everyone knows Natasha has a huge soft spot for Tony, even though no one’s crazy enough to tease her about it anymore; they’ve all learned from Clint’s mistakes. “But I’ll see what I can do.” 

Tony smiles, tired and half-hearted as it may be. “You’re the best.” 

Natasha studies him for a moment, then leans down, and cups Tony’s face between her hands. “This,” she says, nodding over at Bucky and Steve’s bodies, “isn’t your fault. And you’re not going to blame yourself for something that was out of your control, because you’re not an idiot.” 

“Tasha,” Tony sighs, trying to turn his face away, and making a grumpy noise in the back of his throat when Natasha won’t let him. “Come on.” 

Natasha doesn’t say anything else, only presses a quick kiss to Tony’s forehead before heading out. Tony watches her go, then heaves himself up, exhaustion written into every line of his body, and goes to perch on the edge of Bucky’s bed. Now, with no one else here to see, he brushes some wayward strands of hair away from Bucky’s eyes, fingers lingering. 

“You have to wake up, you hear me?” He looks over at Steve, eyes shining tellingly. “You too, Cap. I don’t—I can’t—I’m so sorry, I—I should’ve been quicker. This was supposed to be easy, but I fucked it up. I wasn’t fast enough, I didn’t have your back, and now—now you’re—”

Tony cuts himself off sharply, and hunches over, scrubbing his hands through his already messy hair, his breath hitching. Bucky whines, pained, and Steve hugs him a little tighter. Steve itches with the need to comfort Tony, to reassure him, and he knows Bucky feels the same, can sense Bucky’s desperation, and helplessness through their bond. But while they’re not falling through floors or furniture, touching people other than themselves has turned out to be a little trickier. It’s possible, but it comes with a sense of almost overwhelming wrongness, like someone, or something, is trying to discourage them, to prevent them from making contact. 

“Okay,” Tony says after a long moment, clearly to himself, inhaling shakily. He gets up again, and Steve can’t help but smile at the look of determination on his face, because he knows what it means; Tony has a plan.

By the time Natasha gets back fifteen minutes later, Tony has moved the medical equipment out of the way, pushed Bucky and Steve’s beds together, and tucked them in more comfortably, closer together. When Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, Tony juts his chin out, stubborn, and says, “It’s scientifically proven that close proximity to a soulmate can speed up a person’s recovery.” He swallows hard, eyes pleading. “I have to try, Tasha.” 

“You should talk to them.” Natasha motions for Tony to sit down again in a chair next to the beds, and puts the tray with the food in his lap. “Familiar voices have been known to help.” 

She stays just long enough to make sure Tony eats, and takes his pills—Steve could kiss her for that, he really could, because while Tony’s obviously able to take care of himself, he’s entirely incapable of putting himself before the ones he cares about—before going to get showered, and changed herself, clearly recognising Tony’s desire for privacy.  

“All right,” Tony declares, putting on a brave face, and clapping his hands together. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s talking.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky make a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, people. I was on holiday, and then I had to catch up on all the work my amazing co-workers left for me during my absence. Anyway, I’m back, here’s more angsty pain, enjoy!

Dinner that night is a subdued affair. No one’s in the mood to make conversation, so instead of gathering around the table—a big, custom-made piece Tony had ordered to fit everyone, even though he still claims team meals take up too many of his precious workshop hours, as if Steve and the others aren’t aware of how much family time means to him—everyone scatters around the living room with their plates, staring at the TV with varying degrees of listlessness, and poorly disguised worry.

Steve gratefully sinks down in one of the armchairs after an afternoon spent sitting on the floor—using the beds, and getting anywhere near his and Bucky’s bodies had just been too weird—a little miffed that being incorporeal apparently doesn’t mean he can’t get tired, or a crick in his neck. Bucky plops down in Steve’s lap a moment later, throwing his legs over the arm of the chair, and pillowing his cheek on Steve’s chest. Steve winds an arm around him in return, leans back, and closes his eyes.

He’s exhausted, both physically as well as mentally, and hearing the things Tony’d had to say over the last couple of hours hasn’t exactly helped his state of mind. It’s no secret that Tony thinks very lowly of himself, not to the people who make the effort to get to know him properly, but Steve hadn’t been aware of the extent of it before today. 

It had been heartbreaking to realise how much Tony despises himself, especially since none of the terrible things he believes about himself are even remotely true; Tony isn’t selfish, is actually one of the most generous and caring people Steve knows, and even though Tony has undoubtedly made many mistakes in his life, so has everyone else. No one is perfect, and no one has to be, but Steve is very aware of the fact that his treatment of Tony during the first few months of their acquaintance might not have helped to make Tony trust him on that.

Steve had judged Tony too quickly, too harshly, and while he’ll always feel guilty about that, he’d really thought they were making progress. They’ve slowly but steadily grown closer since the Mandarin incident, since Steve had stormed into Tony’s hospital room after the Arc Reactor surgery, simultaneously angry and scared shitless, and demanded to know why the hell Tony hadn’t called the other Avengers in, only to stop short at Tony’s brittle smile, and resigned, “Didn’t think any of you would come.”

That was the moment Steve had realised just how much damage he’d unknowingly done to their budding friendship, and he’s been trying to make up for his oversight ever since. He’s made sure to spend time with Tony, to get to know the person behind all those masks of snark, bite, and witty sarcasm, and has come out on the other side with a new best friend, and the beginnings of a massive crush. He would’ve asked Tony out, too, if it hadn’t been for Bucky’s unexpected return. Which hadn’t changed Steve’s feelings for Tony, but made the entire situation a little more complicated, and put all things romance on hold, with Tony and Bucky both.

He never could have chosen one over the other—Bucky is Steve’s past, his first great love, and Tony is his anchor to the future, his second chance—but, luckily, Steve didn’t have to. Weeks after coming to live with him at the tower, Bucky had sat Steve down, and asked, in that blunt, no nonsense way of his, if Steve was with Tony now, and if that was the reason the two of them couldn’t pick up where they’d left off. Steve had broken down completely at that, shamefully sobbing his confession into Bucky’s chest, only for Bucky to kiss his forehead, and declare, “We’ll woo him together, then. ‘S not like you could do it on your own anyway, punk.”

Unlike Steve, Bucky’s never been too shy to talk about what he wants—honestly, if it’d been up to Steve, they’d never gotten over the awkward pining stage of their relationship—and Tony just so happened to be on the top of Bucky’s list. They’d never seriously considered searching for their third, happy and content with their soulbond as it was, even without the missing part their shared mark told them had to be somewhere out there. Steve wouldn’t have said no to exploring his potential connection with Peggy, if her gender hadn’t immediately ruled her out as a partner for Bucky, and, therefore, their perfect match.

Tony, however, is definitely both their type, and whoever had been supposed to complete their triad bond was most likely long dead already, anyway, so neither Steve nor Bucky had seen a reason why not to pursue Tony. Steve, at that point, had been in love with Tony for months, and Bucky had been getting there, charmed by Tony’s dedication to helping him get better; from sleepless nights spent watching dumb movies together, to studying with Bucky for his GED to replace his out of date high school diploma, to fixing Bucky’s prosthetic arm with gentle hands so unlike those of Bucky’s abusers, Tony’d been there right from the start, selfless and eager, and that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Bucky. 

They’d decided to do it right, to court Tony properly, like he deserved; jewellery gifts, as per tradition, dinner dates, flowers, and tentative first steps at intimacy with a careful hug here, and a quick squeeze of a hand there. And it’s been good, or so Steve’d thought, until it became clear that Tony was, and still is, completely misinterpreting their intentions. Thinks that Bucky and Steve feel indebted to him, for giving them a place to call home, and are trying to pay him back. That he’s been making them uncomfortable with his involvement in their lives, that he’s been stepping on their toes all this time, and that their sudden attention is their subtle, polite way of getting him to back off once their imagined debt is settled.

“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, and nudges his nose into Steve’s cheek, snapping Steve out of his spiralling thoughts. “You drownin’ in your guilt isn’t gonna help anyone, least of all Tony.”

Steve swallows hard around the lump in his throat, blinking against the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “He thinks we—”

“I know.”

“And he’s—”

“Baby, _I know_ ,” Bucky says, voice trembling, rubbing a calloused thumb under Steve’s eye before leaning up, and brushing a quick kiss over Steve’s lips. “But he’s _Tony_. He’s gonna fix whatever shit we’ve landed ourselves in this time, and then we’re gonna fix the huge fuckin’ mess we’ve made of this courtin’ thing, a’right?”

Steve takes a deep breath, then a second one, and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, all right, Buck.”

He kisses Bucky’s temple, lingering to breathe Bucky in. He can tell Bucky’s scared as well, of course he is, but in this, Bucky’s frustratingly similar to Tony, the hypocrite; taking care of his friends, his family, always takes precedence over taking care of himself.

“What?” Bucky asks, pulling back enough to quirk an eyebrow at Steve when he feels Steve’s lips twitch. “What’re you grinnin’ about?”

“We deserve each other. All of us, we really do,” Steve laughs quietly, grin widening when Bucky rolls his eyes, trying for annoyed, but landing somewhere closer to impossibly, helplessly fond.

Their temporary retrieve is interrupted when Tony gets up from the couch, waving away Bruce's concerned questions about his untouched food. Steve and Bucky share a look, then follow Tony. It feels intrusive, going up into Tony’s private quarters without Tony knowing they’re there, but they don’t exactly have a choice. They’ve had time to experiment with their ghostly status, and whatever the purpose of the de-bodying spell is, one of the side effects happens to be that both Bucky and Steve appear to be tethered to Tony, in some way. Because whenever they stray too far, for too long, they’re pulled back to Tony’s side, and left nauseated and dizzy. Steve doesn’t understand the purpose of it, having to stay with Tony but apparently not being allowed to get too close to him at the same time, but that’s magic for you; unpredictable, and batshit crazy.

Luckily for Steve and Bucky, there’s a comfortable settee up against the windows of Tony’s spacious bedroom, which is where they decide to settle down for the night while Tony disappears in the bathroom for a shower. The moment Steve’s head touches one of the many plush pillows, he realises how tired he is, the action from the day, and the battle finally catching up with him. He’s drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, only half aware of Tony padding back into the room, and startles when Bucky whacks him in the shoulder.

“Whassit?” Steve slurs drowsily, directing a grumpy frown up at Bucky.

“Oh, nothin’ much,” Bucky hisses, and grabs Steve’s chin, forcefully turning his head so Steve’s looking at Tony, and the—

The familiar mark low on Tony’s hip, the mark Steve sees on the inside of his elbow every day, and has kissed on the back of Bucky’s neck countless times.

_Their_ mark. Their _soulmark_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, I actually managed to finish this in time for Steve’s birthday. Happy 4th of July to all of you who are celebrating today. Please remember that fingers you blow off with illegally obtained/homemade fireworks don’t actually grow back.

Even though he’s exhausted, sleep doesn’t come easily to Steve, not after the shock of finding out that Tony is their third. He keeps wondering how, with the over five decades separating them, any of this is even possible. How whoever, or whatever weaves people’s fates together knew; knew that Tony would be born, and that he would be their match, the person to make their bond a perfect whole.

Steve swallows hard, and pulls Bucky a little closer against his chest, thumb stroking back on forth over the mark on Bucky’s neck. What Tony must have thought, what he must have gone through because of it, because of _them_. Steve and Bucky’s mark and connection have never been a secret, especially not after having them documented when joining the army—even if they, two men, had automatically been labeled as platonic, back then—so Tony must have known. _Howard_ must have known, and Steve can only begin to imagine what the repercussions must have been like for Tony, to carry the mark of two men Howard had idolized, to be linked to them, and found lacking by his own father.

Somehow, despite his spiralling thoughts, Steve manages to doze off eventually, gasping awake again at the first series of whimpers coming from the other side of the room. He’s still groggy, not fully conscious yet, and it takes a couple of seconds before things click into place, and he realises the awful, terrified sounds are coming from Tony. By then, Bucky—who’s terrible at maintaining a regular, healthy sleep schedule even under normal circumstances—is already on his knees by the bed, metal hand braced on the mattress, and the other one hovering hesitantly over Tony’s shoulder.

“Try,” Steve urges as he drops down next to Bucky. He leans into Bucky’s side, and settles his hand over Bucky’s, linking their fingers. “Together. C’mon, we gotta try.”

Bucky nods, licks his lips, and then slowly, very slowly, lowers their joint hands to rest on Tony’s bare back. Steve’s holding his breath against the expected nausea, letting it out in a rush when all he feels is a weird, almost tickling sensation starting up in the pad of his thumb where it’s brushing over Tony’s skin. Bucky shoots him a quick, confused look, then increases the pressure of his hand.

Nothing happens. Tony continues to twitch, sweat beading along his hairline, his mouth parted slightly as he pants, and mutters under his breath. Steve untangles his fingers from Bucky’s, and carefully threads them into Tony’s hair instead, hoping against hope that, somehow, Tony knows they’re here.

Tony calms down eventually, but neither Bucky nor Steve move from their positions on the floor. Bucky isn’t doing too great, what little emotion he allows to travel across their bond dulled by how much he’s trying to hold back. To not burden Steve with his bullshit, Steve knows, has heard him say often enough.

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, throat going tight when Bucky looks over at him, lips trembling, and lashes clumped together with unshed tears. He shuffles closer, until he’s pressed against Bucky from hip to shoulder, and cups his free hand around Bucky’s face to draw him in, and kiss him softly. “Baby, hey.”

Bucky swallows hard a couple of times, Adam’s apple bobbing. “He didn’t tell us,” he whispers hoarsely, tucking his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “We screwed up so bad, Stevie. We— _fuck_ , Steve. And now we can’t do shit. He’s—he’s—he needs us, and we ain’t here, not really, he’s all alone, and—and—”

“Ssh, Bucky, hey,” Steve hums, tugging Bucky in to curl against his chest, careful not to dislodge Bucky’s hand from Tony’s back. Bucky takes a shuddering breath, and Steve kisses his shoulder, nuzzling, lingering. “We taking turns freaking out now?”

That makes Bucky laugh, at least, wet and weak. He rubs his nose along the underside of Steve’s jaw, breathing him in in an attempt to compose himself. “Well, we can’t both be losin’ our shit. That’d just be stupid.”

“True,” Steve agrees, genuine amusement dissolving some of the tension hanging in the air. He chances a quick glance over at Tony, relieved when Tony’s sleeping peacefully, nightmare obviously over. He wiggles the fingers he still has in Tony’s hair, smiling down at Bucky when he sees him watching. “Maybe this is a good sign? That we can touch him now? Could mean the spell’s wearing off.”

Bucky doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods anyway. “Yeah,” he allows, and strokes his hand up Tony’s spine. “Maybe.”

That optimism is difficult to keep up, though, when faced with Tony’s growing frustration, and the alarming way he starts to isolate himself from the rest of the team over the course of the following week. He’s snappy with Bruce when their tests don’t yield any usable results, steadfastly ignores Clint’s attempts to coax him into spending some time with the others, threatens to sic his suits on Thor when Thor ask if he doesn’t want to get some rest, and even growls at Natasha to leave him alone.

After yelling at Reed over the phone for an hour on day three, and then banning Doctor Strange from the tower for life on day six, Tony goes as far as locking everyone but himself, and the medical staff out of Bucky and Steve’s room in the infirmary. Which doesn’t keep Natasha and Clint from sneaking in through the vents on the few occasions Tony passes out from sheer exhaustion—leading Steve to believe Bruce is watching through the security cameras—to bring him water and food that Tony eats with a permanent scowl on his face, but that’s as far as they get, because this is usually where Steve and Bucky come in, acting as the big guns.

But they can’t do that now—Bucky can’t glare Tony into submission, and then cuddle him aggressively while Steve scratches his head, or rubs his feet—and neither of them has ever been particularly good at sitting one out, and being idle.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” Bucky grumbles, for the thirteenth time, on day eight, turning when he reaches the window, and stalking back to the door.

Tony’s going on forty hours without sleep, and Bucky has been pacing for the last four of them. Steve is slumped in one corner of the room, legs pulled up against his chest, forehead pressed against his knees, and arms folded across the back of his neck, just concentrating on breathing.

Both of them startle when Tony curses, and swipes the files he’d carefully laid out on the small coffee table to the floor. He fists his hands into his hair, eyes wild and red-rimmed, and kicks at one of the X-rays, only to lose his footing, and stumble backwards. Steve jumps up, running on pure instinct, but Bucky gets there faster, and catches Tony around the waist, pulling him upright again.

Bucky steps back, surprised, and Tony whirls around. “What,” Tony says, turning on the spot, then shakes his head, and drops his face into his hand. “I’m going crazy. Great. That’s just great. Perfect timing.”

He walks over to the couch, flopping down on it with a groan, and burying his face in a cushion while Steve and Bucky watch on, afraid of what he’s going to do next. They don’t look away until soft snores clue them in that Tony’s fallen asleep.

“You saw that, right?” Bucky asks then, sounding hopeful for the first time in nearly a week. “Tell me you saw that, Steve.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky from behind, smiling against his nape. “Yeah, Buck. I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m currently thinking this is going to be five chapters, instead of the three I promised originally. Yes, I know, this is terrible; a longer fic than you expected, how dare I? 
> 
> This chapter hasn’t been beta’d, all mistakes are definitely mine. If you find some, come yell at me on tumblr so I can fix them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *arrives two months late with Starbucks*

Bucky is bent over, hands braced against the wall, coughing and dry heaving while Steve rubs a soothing hand over his back. “Okay, that didn’t work out so great.”

The glare Bucky directs up at Steve is completely deadpan. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Steve bites back the fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth— _he_ thinks grumpy Bucky is cute, but he also knows that Bucky absolutely does not share that opinion—and pulls Bucky back upright, and against himself. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, tucking a few strands of hair behind Bucky’s ears, and brushing a soft kiss over Bucky’s lips. “Still dizzy?”

“Kinda,” Bucky groans, winding his arms around Steve’s waist, and resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder. He kisses Steve’s neck, lingering for a moment, then lets out a frustrated breath. “Magic fuckin’ sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve sighs, glancing over Bucky’s head at Tony where he’s reading through the latest batch of test results, completely unaware of what’s happening around him.

For the last two days, ever since Bucky’d successfully caught Tony when he fell, Steve and Bucky have been experimenting with touching Tony, hoping that it would, somehow, break the spell. The initial eager excitement has worn off by now, though; there were only so many times they could try something, and get the same disappointing results before they had to admit that their strategy wasn’t working. Not that that’s stopped them, it’s still the best—and only—idea they have, but the continued lack of progress is starting to weigh on them.

“C’mon,” Steve says, disentangling himself from Bucky after one last quick kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Let’s go sit down. You don’t look so hot.”

“Excuse you, I’m smokin’,” Bucky quips back, batting his eyes at Steve, and laughs when Steve gives him a gentle shove to get him moving. “Yeah, yeah. ‘M goin’, see?”

They settle on the couch behind Tony, who’s sitting on the floor, bent over the coffee table, muttering to himself as he furiously scribbles down notes. He’s even had DUM-E—who’s now playing nurse as best as he can, tugging at Bucky and Steve’s blankets every once in a while—drag some equipment up from his lab, and assembled some sort of contraption that’s now scanning Steve and Bucky, providing Tony with data Steve can’t make head or tail of.

Whatever the data’s telling Tony, though, it can’t be good, because Tony’s jawn has been tightening, and the furrow between his brow growing more and more prominent over the course of the afternoon. The dark circles under his eyes have become a permanent feature, and he’s twitchy, hands trembling enough that he fumbles with his mug when he tries to pick it up, dropping it with a startled curse.

It’s Steve, this time, who reacts first, hand shooting out to bat the mug away before the still steaming coffee can spill, and burn Tony. Tony flinches, whirling around, and for a moment Steve thinks they’ve finally done it, that Tony can see them, but then Tony shakes his head as if to clear it, and turns away to frown at the shattered mug on the floor.

Disappointment washes over Steve. He looks over at Bucky, expecting to see a similar reaction, only to be surprised when Bucky’s beaming at him, practically vibrating with excitement. “What—”

“Yes!” Bucky, laughing, grabs Steve’s shoulders, shaking him, which only confuses Steve more. “Stevie, yes! We’ve been so dumb!”

Steve glances at the puddle on the floor, then back up at Bucky. “We have?”

“We’ve been helpin’ him, all this time, it only works if we’re helpin’ him,” Bucky says expectantly, shaking Steve again when Steve just blinks at him, still not following. “When we touch him, it works if we do it _for_ him. He was gonna fall, a coupla days ago, right? And just now, he was about to hurt himself, again. And that night, when we saw our mark on him, he—”

“He had a nightmare,” Steve finishes, finally catching on. “He had a nightmare, and neither of us got sick when we tried to comfort him. Buck, oh my God!”

“I know!” Bucky exclaims, surging forward to kiss Steve, then rest their foreheads together, still smiling widely. “I know, Stevie.”

It’s just a small step, but Steve won’t let that discourage him. It’s still a step in the right direction after weeks of stumbling around in the dark. It’s a start. And if the spell permits, even encourages them to seek out contact whenever Tony’s hurt, or vulnerable, that means they’re supposed to help. That’s what it has to mean. They’ll help Tony, take care of Tony—prove that they’re worthy soulmates—and eventually the spell will be broken. That actually makes a certain amount of sense, from what little Steve knows about magic; most of the spells and hexes the Avengers have come across so far have, somehow, been connected to, or involved love. It is, according to Thor’s stories, what made magic possible in the first place.

“Steve,” Bucky says, urgent, his excitement suddenly gone, tone somber.

Steve understands why immediately when he looks back at Tony. “Shit.”

Tony is in the process of getting up, struggling to get his unsteady legs under himself, and wiping at his eyes as he mumbles about going insane, about not being able to do this anymore. He’s crying, Steve realises, shocked, unable to recall the last—or any—time Tony’d willingly shown weakness in front of him, or anyone else on the team. Only, Tony doesn’t know Steve and Bucky are there, and that, the fact that Tony is ashamed to show this side of himself to anyone, makes the entire thing so much worse. Makes it so much more obvious on how many levels Steve and Bucky have failed Tony.

“Hey, no, c’mon,” Bucky hisses, not angry, but insistent, already standing, and tugging at Steve’s wrist to get him moving. “Tony needs us, baby. C’mon.”

Steve nods mutely, but then, more determined, says, “Yeah,” and lets Bucky pull him up so they can follow Tony into the elevator. Without having to speak, Steve moves to Tony’s right side while Bucky takes his left, both of them tucking themselves close to Tony to support him. And it works, there’s no nausea, but the excitement doesn’t last long because Tony doesn’t even notice them touching him, and that definitely isn’t good.

Once in the penthouse, Tony heads straight for his bedroom, curling up in the middle of his massive bed, arms wound tightly around himself, and knees pulled up towards his chest. He’s still crying, quiet in a way that makes Steve furious if he thinks too long about the why, rocking himself back and forth ever so slightly.

“Fuck this,” Bucky decides, and kneels on the edge of the bed. “I’m not watchin’ this, I can’t.”

With that, Bucky crawls up the bed, slots himself against Tony’s back, and puts his arm around Tony’s waist, holding him close. Steve only hesitates for a moment before joining them, scooting close against Tony’s front, hand settling on Tony’s thigh, stroking up and down slowly. Over the top of Tony’s head, Steve shares a helpless look with Bucky, but quickly has to look away again, and swallow hard when he sees Bucky’s eyes are just as red and damp as he suspects his own to be.

Art by [Auri](http://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/)

Tony does drop off eventually, clearly exhausted, but Steve doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night, and neither does Bucky, going by his ever so slightly laboured, wet breathing. They don’t talk, though, remaining quiet, careful to stay in constant contact with Tony, desperate to offer what little comfort they can.

It’s barely dawn when Tony surges upright again, panting, wildly glancing around the room. His eyes are swollen, lashes clumped together, and Steve can’t resist reaching out, and trailing one of the dried tear tracks on his cheek. Tony’s face scrunches up as he touches the same spot, fingers brushing Steve’s for a moment before he blinks, and shudders, clearly dismissing whatever he must have felt.

Subdued, Steve and Bucky trail Tony back down to the hospital room where their bodies are lying, still as ever. Tony checks over the equipment, like he does at least twice a day, but then perches on the edge of Steve’s bed, which is new. Usually, Tony spends as little time as possible looking at Bucky and Steve, as if it pains him to do so, to be, Steve assumes, reminded of how he thinks he failed them.

Today, however, Tony cups Steve’s cheek, breath leaving him in a rush. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, sniffling, and blinking rapidly against a new bout of tears. “I’m so sorry. I’ve tried everything I could think of, I—I don’t know what else to do. Where to go from here. And it’s driving me crazy. Literally. I keep hearing things, seeing things. Things that shouldn’t be possible. I—I’m just so, so sorry, I—”

He cuts himself off with a strangled sob, clenching his hands into fists for a moment, and taking a few deep breaths. Then he reaches across over Steve, adoringly stroking Bucky’s face, free hand cupping the side of Steve’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

With that, Tony leans in close, lips hovering over Steve’s forehead for a moment before—

Steve’s eyes fly open, and he’s looking up into Tony’s rapidly paling face, too overwhelmed to do anything but stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I'm not sorry. Fairytale spells, yo.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finally arrives with the last chapter after half a year* Sup, yo? 
> 
> I’m not going to make excuses, it is what it is. The last few months were not kind to me, and I barely wrote anything at all. But I’m slowly getting my groove back, so here we go.
> 
> At least there's smut, right?

“So, I guess there’s some truth to fairy tales after all, huh?” Tony tries to joke, but he sounds all wrong, flat, and his smile isn’t reaching his eyes. “Who’d have thought?”

“Tony,” Steve breathes, his voice barely more than a croak, and his hand shaky and weak after weeks of inactivity when he lifts it up, and curls it over the jut of Tony’s hip. Over the spot where he knows their mark is. “Tony.”

Frowning, Tony looks down at Steve’s hand, clearly confused, but Steve can see the exact moment he puts the pieces together; his face shuts down, going eerily blank, and his whole body tenses as he gets ready to bolt.

With his free hand, Steve snags Tony’s wrist, careful to keep his hold loose enough that Tony can easily break free, if that’s what he wants. “Tony, please.”

“How,” Tony chokes out, and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling, and blinking rapidly. “How did you find out?”

“We, uh. We were here?” Steve shrugs, not sure how to explain properly. “Sort of, anyway. Just not actually inside our bodies? But we were always close to you, had to be because of the spell, I think, so we heard and saw—”

“Everything. You saw everything.” Tony swallows hard, face white as a sheet apart from his blushing cheeks, and does pull his arm out of Steve’s grip, then. He gets up, and takes a few steps away from the bed, rubbing his shaking hands over his face. “That’s. Yup. That’s just perfect. Great. Just. That’s great. Awesome. I’m,” he gestures behind himself, at the door, without meeting Steve’s eyes, “I’m just going to go, and—”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Steve blurts, the first thing that comes to mind. He has to stop Tony, somehow, prevent him from leaving, make him understand. Tony hesitates in his escape, unsure, so Steve pats the bed next to his hip, aiming what he hopes is a reassuring smile at Tony.

It takes a minute of Tony obviously considering the pros and cons of fleeing or staying, but eventually he creeps closer again, and, very gingerly, sits down at the foot of the bed, well out of Steve’s reach.

Steve will take it. He licks his lips, and carefully considers his words before speaking again. “We didn’t know it was you, before,” he waves a hand in an awkward ‘all of whatever this is’ gesture, “this happened. But we didn’t care. Tony, we didn’t care that you weren’t our third, we were courting you anyway. Hoping you felt the same, that you were interested. In us. Romantically.”

He’s babbling, he knows it, but know that he’s started, it all comes rushing out. “We should have made that clearer,” he admits, smiling ruefully. “We thought we were being so obvious, practically following you around like lovesick teenagers. Nat’s been teasing us for weeks, she’s been merciless—”

Tony makes a choked sound at that. “No, it’s nothing,” he says, when Steve stutters to an abrupt stop, concerned. “Just. Some of her comments make a little more sense now, with the appropriate context. I didn’t realise you,” he says, falters, then shrugs helplessly. “I didn’t realise.”

“We want you,” Steve continues, meeting Tony’s sceptical eyes, letting him see, not just hear. “We wanted you when we had no idea we were destined, Tony. We wanted you, and we still do.” Knowing what Tony’s going to say next, Steve keeps going before he has the chance. “Because you’re kind, selfless, generous, smart. And humble about it. No, don’t even start,” he warns, teasing. “Everyone who bothers to look past all of the bullshit knows it’s true, so you’ll just have to suck it up, and deal with it.”

“Language,” Tony tisks, but he’s fighting a smile. He looks away from Steve, down at his lap, and Steve is delighted to see that the tips of his ears are slowly but steadily turning a bright, dark red. “Sap.”

Careful, just in case it isn’t welcome after all, Steve brushes his fingers over Tony’s knee, then down his leg to curl them around his ankle, and squeeze softly when Tony doesn’t pull away. “You should probably wake Bucky. He’d be throwing a fit if he could right now.”

“How—” Tony starts, and makes a garbled noise in the back of his throat when Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh. Right, that.”

He does get up, though, and move around the beds to sit close to Bucky. He glances over at Steve, uncertain, and Steve nods encouragingly. Tony nods back, and looks back down at Bucky, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. Steve absently mimics the move, palms sweaty, and heart beating wildly as Tony slowly leans down and close, eyes flickering over Bucky’s slack face for a long moment before—

Steve’s Russian is still pretty terrible, but he definitely knows the curses that fly out of Bucky’s mouth as soon as Tony’s lips touch his. Tony does, too, going by his startled look, which turns into a surprised yelp when Bucky brings up his arms, winds them around Tony, and flips them so he’s got Tony under him, tucked snugly between Tony’s legs.

Bucky keeps talking, growling at Tony whenever Tony cuts in to apologise, and they’re both crying, Tony wiping shaking fingers over Bucky’s cheeks while Bucky noses along Tony’s jaw. They seem to come to an understanding eventually, because Bucky kisses Tony again, not holding back this time; it’s deep, wet, and completely inappropriate to do right now, in the infirmary, right after having woken up from a magically induced ghost coma.

Steve does not give a shit, and neither does his dick, apparently. It fattens up at the sight of the two men he loves clinging to each other, their mouths moving together, teeth nipping at lips, fingers carding into hair and wandering under shirts to explore, at the needy yet simultaneously relieved moans spilling out of the both of them.

Praying that no one is actively monitoring them right now—or at least, if someone is, that they have enough common sense to stay away for the next half hour or so—Steve nudges at Bucky’s shoulder so he can take his place, and suck Tony’s already swollen bottom lip into his mouth. “Tell us if we’re going too fast,” he breathes, shoving up Tony’s shirt while Bucky tugs at the string of his sweatpants. “Tell us—God, Tony,” he groans when Tony grabs at the back of his neck, and bullies him into a more comfortable position before licking into Steve’s mouth.

Tony jerks, suddenly, making Steve pull back, and look down. “Beautiful,” he says, cock twitching excitedly at the sight of Bucky’s mouth stretched around the head of Tony’s dick. “So beautiful, Buck.”

Bucky hums, eyes fluttering shut, and Tony moans again, low and filthy, and Steve just has to kiss him again.

Somehow, with a bit of fumbling, they get Tony’s shirt off, and Tony settled with his side against Steve, legs spread wide to accommodate Bucky. Tony’s got one hand tangled in Bucky’s hair, all previous shyness forgotten as he guides him where he wants him, and the other cupping Steve’s face, thumb dipping into Steve’s mouth, tugging it open wider every now and again. Bucky is holding onto Tony’s hips, so Steve reaches down with the arm not being used as a pillow by Tony to jerk the last inch of Tony’s cock that Bucky can’t fit.

It’s not the most coordinated sex Steve’s ever had, but he’s buzzing, the bond singing and pulsing now that the three of them are together, skin to skin. He hasn’t touched himself, only has his leaking dick pressed against Tony’s hip, but he can feel Tony’s arousal grow, bright and intense, and Bucky’s reaction to it. It’s a feedback loop of want, need, love, and when Tony groans, “Close, shit, I’m close, Bucky, I’m going to,” and bucks up, coming down Bucky’s throat with a cry, Steve is right there with him, and knows that Bucky is as well.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs, sticky and panting. Sated. Happy. Complete.

Eventually, though, when the drying come begins to crust uncomfortably, Steve sits up, and pulls off his hospital gown, using it to wipe down first Tony, then himself. Bucky grumbles when Steve tells him to roll over, practically asleep, but follows Tony’s amused coaxing until Steve can divest him of his own gown, and give him a few quick swipes as well. Immediately after, Bucky pushes Tony over onto his side, and slots in behind him, nose buried in Tony’s hair, and arm slung over Tony, hand resting over his heart.

Steve pulls one of the blankets up over them. He pushes some of the damp hair away from Tony’s forehead, hand lingering. “You okay?”

Tony snorts, and holds the blanket up again, tucking himself under Steve’s chin when Steve slides in close. “Still not sure any of this is real. Feels too good to be true.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Steve promises, and kisses the top of Tony’s head.

There’s so much they still need to talk about, figure out, so many things Steve wants to know, needs to ask. But right now, Steve knowingly has both his soulmates in his arms for the very first time, their bond alight as it grows and blooms, and Steve really can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

It will be okay, he believes that with all of his heart. It’s the three of them, after all; how could it not be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha was totally the one watching when they started screwing. She discreetly turned off the cameras, and made sure to give them a couple of hours before barging in, and embarrassing the shit out of them. Because she's a good bro like that.
> 
> Real talk: I finished this chapter literally 10 minutes ago, so there might be more errors/mistakes than usual. But I wanted to get it to you as soon as possible, so here we are. In Steve's words; you'll just have to suck it up, and deal with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


End file.
